


Rot

by cardinal__sin



Category: Eisbrecher
Genre: Anniversary, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Humor, Kinda, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Romance, Romantic Gestures, Yearning, adults not being adults, bless facetime, heavily influenced by rot wie die liebe, ish, its super late dont mind me, musings, rupert is kinda whiny, surprise, thats just my style fam get used to it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 02:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21219041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardinal__sin/pseuds/cardinal__sin
Summary: Liebe (Subst., f)1. auf starker körperlicher, geistiger, seelischer Anziehung beruhende Bindung an einen bestimmten Menschen, verbunden mit dem Wunsch nach Zusammensein, Hingabe o. Ä.





	Rot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Raijin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raijin/gifts).

> I watched a Rot wie die Liebe live video and things got gay. i am not sorry. enjoy.

The bouquet on his doormat is already a sign. The tiny card tucked into it, _they’re red; make your deductions_ written on it in the busy chicken scratch of his favourite person is another. The fact that it’s their anniversary may be the biggest sign of them all though.

Rupert picks up the roses; they really are red, a deep crimson that reminds him of the lining of Alex’s suits, of glasses of wine and bad horror movies, of the Christmas tree decorations from their first Christmas together. It’s a nice colour. He sniffs them quickly, can’t help but smile at the sweet scent of them. He’ll put them on his nightstand, to remind him of Alex who is painfully far away, as usually.

It kind of sucks that they couldn’t arrange anything for their anniversary, Rupert thinks, but they’re both busy and they’ve sworn to make up for it anyway. It’s fine. Rupert decides he won’t be caught moping on such a beautiful day, especially not when he has cake for breakfast and a boyfriend to call to thank him for the flowers.

FaceTime is a blessing, as always, and soon Rupert gets to gaze upon the face of his beloved (who is also his lockscreen and homescreen wallpaper but that’s beside the point) who seems to be awfully half-asleep. He’s in bed and his eyes are barely open and he’s gorgeous, so Rupert’s stomach decides to do a flip called the I’m So In Love Triple Somersault. The audience cheers. The judges give 10 points each. He’s the new Olympic champion of being a sappy bitch.

“Hey there, loverboy,” Alex croaks, and damn, is his voice sexy, “happy anniversary. Liked the roses?”

Rupert smiles, because of course he does, and tells Alex that yes, he liked the roses very much, then proceeds to berating him for being a – quote unquote – sappy gay idiot. Pot, meet kettle and such. Conversation is easy, as it always is with Alex, and Rupert finds himself sitting on his kitchen counter, eating cake and explaining new song ideas to his boyfriend. He literally does not remember how he got there, or how Alex is suddenly dressed and on the way to Starbucks on the other end of the line. Being in love is fucky like that, probably.

All good things must come to an end though, and soon Alex is saying goodbye (waving at the camera with his pumpkin spice latte) and promising to call in the evening. Rupert says goodbye back and presses the end call button – which is red, although not as red as the roses. Why did he notice that? A mystery.

Alex shoots him an ‘ily babe’ text, followed by hundreds of different heart emojis. Rupert bites into his lower lip to keep himself from laughing, barely believing what a dork his Alex is. It’s truly amazing. He doesn’t text back anything, mostly because he knows he doesn’t need to, and instead goes to work – with some more cake.

The cake thing is actually quite simple: he was out about town the day before when he came across a romantic advert for chocolate and – as the kids these days say – got the morbs about not getting to see Alex’s stupid face on their stupid anniversary. So he went and bought an entire cake for himself. Treat yourself and all that jazz. And now he has endless cake, or so it feels, and even as he starts to try out a few things on guitars and synths in his bedroom-turned-home-studio he takes a few bites here and there. It’s good cake. Too bad Alex isn’t there to eat some of it.

The thing is, Rupert’s random fixation on the colour red gets worse as the day goes by. The red x of _close tab_ when he decides to quit lurking on twitter instead of working, red leaves on the tree outside of his window, red sprinkles on his cake, red cushions on his sofa bed. He keeps seeing red everywhere. It’s part of everything, he sees it anywhere he turns, and it all reminds him of Alex, like the roses had. He truly is _so far gone_ for Alex it’s a wonder he’s still sane, but he can’t help it. With Alex and his fixation on the whole black and red aesthetic, red is everywhere: ties, waistcoats, suit linings, the handkerchief tucked into the front pocket of his suit jacket. His lips after kissing Rupert, his nose after coming in from the cold, grumbling about the winter and disappearing in the kitchen immediately to make mulled wine. Alex is undeniably red, and so is Rupert’s love for him.

Rupert does shit that needs to be done: cleans up around his home, buys groceries, calls Jürgen and whines about being lonely for about two minutes straight (i.e. until Jürgen tells him to suck it the fuck up, he’ll survive) , goes to the post office for an Important Letter that isn’t actually all that important. The usual. He is positively looking forward to beer and watching whatever Netflix throws at him; maybe it will be boring and he’ll fall asleep and dream that Alex is there with him. Maybe. But probably not. Besides, Alex did promise contact in the evening, so he might at least get to see him. Small joys.

There’s someone in his home.

The door is locked and thanks to the solid door he can’t see any light but there’s faint music coming from inside and that is Worrying. With a capital w, yes. Rupert braces himself, and turns the key in the lock as carefully as he can. It’s all stupid, this is his own home for heaven’s sake, but following the better be safe than sorry mentality Rupert decides to enter slowly and quietly.

The first thing he notices is the smell. It smells amazing, whatever it is, and for a second Rupert forgets he could be a victim of a B&E, because this is lasagne and it smells so good. The second thing he notices is the coat on the hanger next to the door: a long black wool coat, awfully familiar. Rupert feels like he’s either being pranked or surprised, and neither of those things sounds amazing. He inches closer to the kitchen, where he expects this mysterious intruder to be. He thinks about calling the police, but what robber would cook dinner instead of taking his expensive equipment? A shitty one, maybe. But this really just seems like a prank.

He doesn’t get much further in his musings, because suddenly he’s wrapped tightly into a pair of arms from behind. Fight or flight kicks in and Rupert’s first instinct is to scream and then just fucking chomp down on this man’s arm. It’s a stupid instinct but it works, and as soon as he’s free, Rupert turns around to face his assailant.

It’s.

Yeah.

It’s Alex.

It’s Alex, wearing an apron for some goddamn reason – does Rupert even own one???? – and grinning from ear to ear despite the deep bitemarks on his forearm. Rupert stares, then stares some more, and then smiles the fuck back because Alex is in his home, Alex is actually there on their anniversary and he’s making dinner! He’s so insanely happy he almost doesn’t notice how gorgeous Alex is.

He’s wearing a dark burgundy shirt with a black silken waistcoat, his eyes are sparkling from glee and he’s just. Alex. He’s there, he’s tangible, and Rupert wants nothing else but to throw himself at him and kiss him senseless because coming here couldn’t have been easy.

So he does exactly that.

He gets as far as throwing himself at Alex, because then he gets rudely interrupted by Alex grabbing him by the arms and holding him away with a scornful face, holds up his arm where the bitemark is happily purpling into a bruise. Rupert groans at him, wants to yell _let me just kiss you, you fucking loser_, but he doesn’t, because Alex leans in then and gives him the smallest, sweetest little kiss in the history of small, sweet little kisses, and says, in his deep, gorgeous voice,

“I'll let you go, but only if you promise you won't bite me.”

So he says alright, I won't, and gets let go. And _then_ he kisses Alex properly, the way the best boyfriend in the whole wide world deserves to be kissed. And the kiss is red; red like the roses Alex had sent him, or like the blood in their veins. It's red, just like love.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, pal! find me on tumblr as @cardinalxsin if you wanna talk or something idk!


End file.
